M Cold
by The Dark Knight's Revenge
Summary: After Jack double crosses the strike, he can't get David's betrayed face out of his mind. He crashes at the theater after being beat up by Spot Conlon, and David eventually comes back to see what's become of the fearless leader. The hard part is explaining to his best friend why he did it. Lemon.


"...I think we should disband the Union."

Then all hell broke loose. Spot Conlon went for Jack's throat, Race and Specs tried to keep Harlem from pounding Queens, and everything went to shit.

Jack got pushed back into a row of seats, through the throbbing in his head and ankle, Pulitzer's minion nodding down at him swam into view. He lunged at the man, but he disappeared like smoke.

Jack turned, trying to see if through the hustle anyone had seen the exchange between him and Pulitzer's man.

Jack turned, and looked straight into Davey's eyes. His stomach dropped.

Davey's eyes were gutted, staring at him with newfound uncertainty and mistrust.

"Dave-"

He felt Spot Conlon's fist connect with his jaw, but that barely touched the pain of the last week going up in flames. Those almost-kisses, those nights where the sexual tension was eating at them, and staring up at the stars while talking about the future.

He'd fucked himself up good.

Jack let Spot beat the shit out of him. He didn't even put his fists back up. When the Newsies piled out of the theater, Jack lay on the dusty floor watching his nose bleed into the woodwork.

"You gonna get up, or are you gonna sleep in a puddle of your own blood?" Medda's voice echoed around the theater. He could hear the disapproval in her voice.

Jack racked his brains for something to say, but all that came out were tears. What the- He hadn't cried in years. His vision blurred as hot tears ran down his stinging cheeks.

"Jackie boy, what have you gotten yourself into." Medda said softly. He felt her fingers running through his hair. The motherly touch did nothing to stem the sobs rolling off his shoulders and onto the floor.

"I fucked myself, I fucked it all. I-I... I did so bad. Medda-" He cried.

"Get it out, boy. Granted, you really put your foot in it this time, but you still have your friends. And Miss Katherine."

"I don't care about her, Miss Medda. I don't c-" He dissolved into sobs again, his ribs screaming with every heave. He didn't even know what he was trying to say.

"The way David looked at me... He was so disappointed." Medda let him cry, resting one thick hand on the back of his head as he made a bigger and bigger puddle of snot and tears and blood on her floor.

Finally, his sobs began to die down. Not because the raw guilt was easing, but because his ribs were giving him hell.

"You gonna go tell that boy how you feel?" Medda asked.

"What?"

"I ain't never seen a girl that could turn Jack Kelley to mush on my stage floor, but I seen one boy who could."

"What are you-"

"I wasn't born yesterday, boy. You've got feelings for David."

"For Davey? What?"

"You just said yourself, you don't care about Miss Katherine. You're here on my floor, bleedin' and cryin' because you got the look of hell from your best mate."

"My... best mate. Yeah."

Medda stood and gave him a nudge with her foot. Jack gingerly rolled over and pulled himself to sitting.

"What are you going to do now, hmm?" Medda asked. Her question hung in the air. Jack coughed, the sound echoing around the theater. He spat some blood on the floor.

"I hope you plan on swabbing this floor till it sparkles." She said, eyeing the dark patches where he'd been lying.

"Of course, Miss Medda. I'll to that now." Jack said, his face closing off.

"Jack..." Medda said as he began limping to the supply closet. He stopped, his shoulders tense.

"You didn't answer the question."

"I don't know, Medda. I'll figure something out. You get some sleep now."

He didn't hear Medda leave, just felt her disapproval rest on his shoulders as she went.

Jack was done. He didn't want to be the big shot anymore. There was too much work and then it all went to shit and...

"Who am I kidding, I'm just a face with a mouth." He said, his words echoing around the theater.

When the floor was clean, he dimmed the lamps and curled up as near to the gaslights as he could for warmth. The old theater was better than the street, but still drafty. His body ached with cold, hunger, and bruises.

 _It wouldn't be like that if you hadn't run your mouth..._ The voice inside his head whispered.

"I had to do what I had to do. It was the revolution or Crutchie..." He said to the empty seats.

 _With that money you could jump ship and go to Santa Fe..._ The voice continued.

"That money is blood money now." He continued out loud. The voice stayed silent.

Jack tried to shift his body again to alleviate the pain in his ribs and get closer to the gaslights without setting himself on fire. He couldn't stop the chill.

Sleep became impossible. He tossed and turned, unable to get comfortable or stop the guilt eating at him. He couldn't stop seeing David's crushed expression. He'd never seen anyone look like that before.

He shifted his hips again, hissing in pain as the bruises screamed in protest.

 _It wouldn't be like this if you were with David..._ the voice was back. Jack let himself drift in warm thoughts of the last few nights, where they'd slept back to back in David's room. Davey's soft breathing, the heat of his skin warm enough to keep the chill out from under the thin sheets.

Tears welled in Jack's eyes again and he beat them away. No use in crying now. He had to live with the consequences of his actions.

Sleep began to take him, the exhaustion of being awake the last two days straight putting him under.

He began to dream that he was in a soft bed, far away from all the hustle and bustle of the city. No sirens ringing, soft cotton sheets under his fingers, and a warm body next to him. The sun streamed in from the open window, bringing with it the familiar smells of sage and cow pies.

"Mornin' love..." He rumbled, throwing his arm over the warm body next to him. He opened his eyes, expecting to see Katherine's brown hair and deep chocolate eyes staring back at him. But instead, the body next to his was leaner, skinnier, and short haired. Davey.

"Mmm... Jack." David sighed.

"Whats you thinkin' about breakfast?" Jack purred, running a hand over David's blanketed hip.

"Jack." David's voice came, but not from the David in front of him.

"Jack! Wake up!" Someone was shaking him from his sleep.

"'M awake... 'M awake..." He slurred, eyes cracking open. Davey's worried face swam into view.

"Oh, thank god. Ya know, how about letting a fellow know you're alive?"

"You were mad at me." He was having a hard time focusing. Either his headache from earlier was back or Spot had landed a few extra blows to his nut.

"Jack, Jack! Can you sit up? You're still bleedin' pretty bad. C'mon buddy." Davey was helping him sit up and holding a cup of water to his lips. He drank, spilling half of it down his front.

"You're a mess." David scolded, sounding like his mother. Jack finally forced his eyes open all the way to see that Davey was cradlin' him like some sort of kid.

"What the hell are you doing...?" He asked.

"I'm takin' care of ya, you scrub." David said.

"You were mad at me. Your face..."

"Sometimes friends fight. And I know what Pulitzer did now. I know that your hands were tied. And I cleared your name with the other Newsies, even Brooklyn."

"You took on Brooklyn by yousself?" Jack asked.

"Well, yeah." Davey flushed a little. "Someone had to."

"That's... that's somethin', kid." Jack couldn't help the brief smile gracing his lips. "You really came through for the strike."

"Naw, naw. It was all you. I'm just the brains in the back. You're the face." Davey flushed a little deeper.

"I'm a mouth with a whole lot of hot air." Jack sighed. His head felt heavy. "Put me down, Dave." Davey dropped him gently on the stage floor. He groaned as his ribs lit up with pain.

"You look like shit, Jack..." David breathed, his blue eyes tinged with worry.

"You can thank Spot Conlon. I deserved it though."

"Can I do anything?" David asked.

"You shoulda let me sleep. I just want to-"

"I thought you were dead." David said. "You was lyin' there all still and cold. I thought Spot killed ya."

"Takes more than a few fists to take me out." Jack replied. His eyes were drifting closed again.

"You sleep, buddy. I'll stay here with ya." David said. His fingertips lightly brushed, then rested on Jack's forearm.

"Davey..." Jack whispered. His head felt so heavy.

"Yeah, Jackie?"

"...Don't call me that."

"You call me Davey, I can call you Jackie." David replied. His warm hand was now resting full on his forearm.

"'M cold." Jack said.

"I-I don't have a blanket. I don't know-"

"Come here." Jack said. He half expected David to make some excuse and get up to go, but the younger boy hesitated only a second before stretching out next to him. David was close enough to Jack so he feel his warmth, but far enough away that they weren't touching.

 _Just like last Tuesday..._

Last Tuesday was the last time they'd slept together, over at Dave and Les' after dinner. His Ma had insisted they get a good night's rest before going to battle in the morning. Jack had lain awake half the night with a raging rock in his johns, his lips only inches away from his bedmate's. He had no idea what had been going through his own head, let alone David's.

"You okay, Jackie?" David's voice was so quiet, he almost missed it.

"Yeah. I'm fine. M'ribs hurt."

"Can I... touch you? I mean, can I see?"

"All for it, I won't be much help..." Jack began to slide out of consciousness again. He was barely aware of David's fingers pulling the edge of his collar down, then ghosting to the buttons of his vest and shirt. There was an intake of breath, and then his chest was bared to the cold theater air. Another intake.

"You like what you see?" He said. His voice sounded like he'd been gargling glass. He tried to clear his throat, coughed, then gave up because his ribs hurt.

"You got beat up." David said. His tone was weird.

"Yeah I got beat up. You saw Spot Conlon."

"No, I mean you've gotten beat up... a lot..." David said. One warm palm was now resting above his heart, where a large star-shaped scar marked a lost fight with a broken bottle. He knew from his last check in a mirror that it was one of many scars and marks covering his body. He'd seen war on the streets.

"What's this one from?" Jack knew which scar he was talking about before his warm fingers tested the borders of the raised pink mark.

"My old man." Jack said.

"Your... father?"

"Yeah. He had too many drinks one night and went after my Ma. I stepped in, I was gettin' big enough then. He broke a chair and stuck the leg in me. I never saw them again."

David was completely silent. After a while Jack cracked an eye to make sure he was still there.

"Whassamatter, you never heard of a Pop going ape on a little kid?"

"No... It just makes me sad, that's all."

"I ain't no pity case. I'm better off on the streets."

"I know, Jackie. Forget it." David laid back down. The silence stretched between them.

"Davey, I..."

"What?"

"'M cold."

David looked over at him, and their eyes met. Then David grabbed his face and pressed their mouths together. Jack couldn't stifled the whimper of pain and pleasure that leaked from his throat.

"I'm sorry." David whispered. Then he did it again, getting nearly the same result. This time Jack willed his hand to move, nearly slapping David across the face in his haste to get his fingers into his hair, palm cupping the other boy's face.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorrysorrysorry..." David kept moaning in between kisses. Jack didn't know what was going on, but the pain in his body was at war with the pleasure in his head.

"Davey, Davey, baby. Hold up." Jack managed to say as David paused for air.

"I'm sorry! Too much, too soon, I-"

"Shuddup." Jack cut him off.

"Jack, I-"

"Shut the hell up, Davey. I'm tryin' to tell you somethin."

David froze, his mouth opening and closing like a fish.

"This feels okay." Jack said.

"Oh, you mean-" David looked down to where his hand had landed between them, an inch away from the rock in Jack's pants.

"No, I mean you and I. This is okay."

"Only okay?"

"No, it's... it's better than okay."

"Well, good. I wouldnta let you share the bed with me if I didn't think it was goin' nowhere."

"You... what?"

"We have a spare bed."

"What."

"I said, -"

"I know whatcha said, Davey. I just don't know why you'd do it."

"I like you, Jack. I thought you knew."

Jack forced his still swollen and dropping eyes to focus on David's blue ones.

"I like you. You should know that."

"Honest?"

"Honest."

Jack could see Davey's eyes glinting in the light of the gaslights. He couldn't tell the emotion though. The silence dragged on.

"Just kiss me, kid."

David sprang, lips first, and they collided in a mash of teeth and tongue and lips and lust.

"I'm sorry 'bout Pulitzer." Jack gasped when he got a moment's breath.

"Shuddup." David replied before rolling on top of Jack. Jack hissed in pain, then grabbed David's ass and pulled him closer. He'd never done this with a boy before, but he figured the same things what worked on skirts worked on men too.

"Fuck." Davey said, sitting up and practically ripping the buttons off his own shirt in his haste. They rolled across the stage floor, getting lost in the cracks. He didn't care that his Ma would kill him later.

"Watch your language, Davey boy." Jack said.

"Don't tell me what to do." David said, lavishing kisses down Jack's chest and pausing right before his beltline. "Cap'n Jack."

"Oh, fuck." Jack cursed, letting his head flop back on the floorboards.

There wasn't much ceremony involved. Lots of apologies (On David's part) and lots of grunts of pain (Jack). When they were finished, they didn't bother to get their clothes on, David just wrapped himself as best he could 'round Jack and nestled his sweaty head in the crook of his neck. Neither of them cared about the splinters and rub marks from the floor or the odd gaslight burn.

"Hey Davey..." Jack's voice was a hoarse whisper from moaning.

"Yeah."

"'M not cold anymore."


End file.
